Forgotten. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

There is a word
    Which bears a sword
    Can pierce an armed man.
    It hurls its barbed syllables,–
    At once is mute again.
    But where it fell
    The saved will tell
    On patriotic day,
    Some epauletted brother
    Gave his breath away.

    Wherever runs the breathless sun,
    Wherever roams the day,
    There is its noiseless onset,
    There is its victory!

    Behold the keenest marksman!
    The most accomplished shot!
    Time’s sublimest target
    Is a soul ‘forgot’!